AU DN FF: Prisoner
by ThisAsexualFantasy86
Summary: It was supposed to be a routine trip and a routine job. Until it wasn't. Rated M for violence, torture and implied sexual situations. Alternate Universe based from an RP, but no RP style posting.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Death Note or its characters.

Disclaimer#2: My knowledge on Italy is not 100% accurate, so I apologize for these inaccuracies.

April 24th, 1999.

Spidery fingers worked on laptop keys, creating their respective letters on the digital screen. The time shown was 4:14 AM, a time where many still slept, or would be waking soon, yet the dimly illuminated face displayed signs of a much more prolonged time without this vital bodily function.

A mess of thick raven hair, too-thin body and gangly limbs were hunched over the screen; dark eyes wide, focused and were becoming dry and itchy, much to the annoyance of the individual. With a sigh that gave him away as male, he paused in his work to put in more eyedrops, his 5th since settling into a pricey motel in Venice, Italy just one day ago.

He wasn't here on vacation, however. He was on a job that had taken him away from some very important people in his life, namely one who had captured his heart many years ago. The same individual whose written words were stored away safely in his suitcase.

He looked back to the screen displaying his initial report on his targets. They were members of a crime syndicate with connections to several crime families in and out of Italy. The Italian Mafia, as with any syndicate with dark dealings were not unpredictable, but they were dangerous if alerted.

Thankfully, he'd taken every precaution necessary to ensure his current identity would remain under the radar. It was a process that had kept him more than safe thus far.

The report was nearing completion now and he had high confidence the syndicate under his watch would be apprehended within 3 months. It was his goal before he'd go back to his loved ones.

April 29th, 1999

The initial report had gone without a hitch. The raven haired man was sitting on the edge of the bed, his body hunched over as he plotted his next course of action. He nibbled on sweet confectioneries purchased from local stores, allowing him to think more clearly.

A knock at his door drew him from his thoughts. His most trusted colleague Watari wasn't far off from him and as his sole mentor and assistant, he thought it wise to answer the aging gentleman. After all, he'd been sent off an hour ago to fetch food for them. His arrival now would be expected.

He took the necessary precautions regardless and logged off before locking the system. It was a defense that he took pride in; keeping out anyone that wasn't him or the elderly male. He stood on the floor and walked to the door, opening the lock and the wooden barrier to the other side. This would be his first and only mistake as the last thing he'd see was a suited gentleman with shades aiming a gun at him and hearing a gunshot. Darkness overtook him in moments and he collapsed to the ground.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Death Note or it's characters.

April 29th, 1999

Something rough jolted the man back into consciousness. His head felt clogged with cotton and his mouth felt dry. He opened eyes blearily, only to find out it was dark. There was a faded light source that would have told him he was in a lit room, and that something was obstructing his vision, but he wasn't coherent enough. A punch to his face jolted him more into wakefulness. He groaned softly.

Some words were directed at him, but they were not in English, he quickly deduced. The accents and accompanying language was certainly Italian from what he could hear.  
"So who is this man?" His brain mentally began translating their every word.  
"It says on this Passport: 'Arnold Hamilton', but it seems fake. All our attempts at breaking into that laptop have been fruitless. With such a high security though, I can venture to guess he's either rich, very important, or perhaps something more. Someone in special forces."

The man tested his limbs, finding them trussed up tightly to a chair.  
"He's finally conscious," warned a voice nearby. Footsteps approached him and he felt the obstruction being removed, only to be greeted with a bright light. Temporarily blinded, he squinted to adjust, able to make out 5 figures.  
"Hey, welcome to our little abode." The statement was in a thickly accented English.  
"Weren't expecting us now, were you? We got connections everywhere. A contact told us of a man with your description was spending a lot of money to hole up in that very hotel. With so much money to spend so freely, who couldn't resist a rare opportunity at trying to get a cut out of it. The fact you seem to have an un-crackable laptop speaks for itself. You come from a rich family? Are you a self made man? Got some kind of other thing going on we don't yet know about? What's the deal?"

The raven only shook his head, feigning grogginess despite being fully conscious.  
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
'I am L.' His alias, one of many, played itself in his head.  
"I'm just a reporter travelling overseas. I have nothing of value to you or anyone." The Italian clicked his tongue and shook his head.  
"You see, that's where you're wrong. I know that you know that you are in possession of a lot of dough. That laptop isn't low value and that hotel room certainly wasn't cheap. You have money, and I'm prepared to cut a deal with you."  
"I'm a freelance journalist with just enough savings to travel. I use my savings to get what I need."  
"You are a good liar, I can tell. It takes a liar to know a liar. You... you almost had me convinced, but with what I know and this fancy laptop now in our possession, I think we both know that your level of co-operation will determine a lot of things in the next few hours, days, or even weeks."

The raven didn't bat an eye. He had a strong will, but his body had limits. Limits he knew they would test and certainly meet or even surpass. Whatever they were hoping to get, he'd refuse them. He'd sooner die than give them whatever they wanted from him. More importantly, he hoped his mind could take the pressure without breaking once his body had given out.  
"I've got nothing of value," he repeated, squinting at the light source again.  
"We shall see about that," said the first voice with a chuckle. This spurred on the rest of the people in the room to break in to mirthless laughter. This unnerved the raven though he'd never show it to them.

The man who he identified as the leader looked to his henchmen.  
"Knock him out and send him to one of the holding cells below. Remove any time keeping technology or paper. We're not going to let him know the passage of time. That's all relative now." L understood what this would mean and attempted to free himself. After a brief struggle, he felt a sting on his neck. His body became limp. With his final bit of mental resistance, He found himself untied and dragged. The injected drug did its work and soon his world went dark anew.


	3. Chapter 2

April 30th, 1999

The raven haired man jolted himself from another round of unconsciousness, finding the space he was in was illuminated. He tested his limbs, finding them free this time around. With some effort, he sat up to get a better look at his surroundings.

The cell was 3 meters by 3 meters and was empty, save for a toilet and what would appear to be a bed, which was a thin, worn sheet. There was a steel door with no window or spaces to speak of. He tested the walls and floor, discovering that they were concrete. He looked up, seeing a single light source and a small camera watching his every move. This place was not going to be easy to escape from. He'd need a few days to get a sense of where everything was. He could plan an escape soon after that.

He looked at his person next, finding himself stripped of nearly all his clothing, save for his boxers that had a boot scuff on it. It was just the toe, so he couldn't guess an accurate shoe size. His body shivered in response to his newfound vulnerability. It was cool in here, but not cool enough to make him ill. With time it could, and he deduced that's why they did that. Wear him down physically, but not mentally. He couldn't allow that.

He took the sheet and wrapped himself up, though almost dropping it because of the foul smell he knew to be urine. It stained the sheet, but it gave a little warmth back, so he risked it for that small comfort. He didn't know what time it was or what day it was now. He couldn't guess how long he'd been knocked out, but he figured it might be early the next day, give or take 4 hours. Not knowing the time was a little unnerving, moreso than the thought of whatever the men had planned for him.

'Time is relative now,' he thought, remembering the last words before he was knocked out.  
'That's what he said. Putting me in here and removing all manner of timekeeping. Another psychological trap, but one I can handle fine. I'll just have to cound the seconds that pass between being knocked out and add up the total after every 3rd cycle. I can manage that.'

So he waited in silence, counting seconds that became minutes and eventually hours. He had gotten to 3 and a half hours in before there was a knock on the door. It was opened and a plate of what passed as food was dropped in. The door was slammed shut and locked before he could do anything.

He glanced down at the plate and the undercooked food before him. It looked to be spaghetti, but uncharacteristically cut up. He knew to cut pasta was an insult. An insult he knew was directed at him. He shifted forward and began to carefully pick away at the food, ignoring anything that looked too inedible.

He finished eating and pushed the rest of the food back at the door.  
'One hour at a time. I can't lose time. If I do... I'll be lost.' One hour at a time. He'd endure. He wouldn't let them win. He couldn't let them win. He needed to plan an escape before it was too late.


End file.
